


The Space Between

by thalialunacy



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Plot What Plot, Rimming, passing notes, zq as cupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one with the favorite body parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> **Genre** : There's no plot like no plot, baby.  
>  **Warning(s)** : There's a little breath-play-ish moment. And some rimming.  
>  **Disclaimer** : Obviously fictional content is FICTIONAL. Don't be hatin, we just like the fuckin.  
>  **Notes** : I don't even know. This just sprung out onto the page nearly fully formed; I finished it so centerspire would have something to read at the airport. One of ZQ's lines is, uh, a David Duchovny quote, and one of Chris's is a quote from an ancient X-Files fanfic, iirc. Also, I made up a word. SUCK IT, SPELL-CHECK. And the title is (I think?) from a Dave Matthews Band song.

Here's the thing: Chris hates the word 'nuzzle,' but it's one of his favorite, like, past-times. Being a smoker he doesn't smell much so it's more just about the jarring intimacy if sticking your nose in places noses usually fear to tread. The underside of a breast, for instance. Especially fascinating if the owner has been sweating, or if she's embarrassed about the effects of gravity. Armpits, through their stages of prickley shavenness. He loves the swell of nostrils, too, but more on men. On women it's about wholeness, fullness, but on men it's—

Nostrils, apparently. Because he can't seem to fucking stop staring at Karl's.

He feels Zach approach but doesn't move, just lets him bump into him. He hears Zach's groansigh. "Stop mooning, please. You're embarrassing me."

Chris moves his stare down to his coffee. "Yeah."

"You're embarrassing you."

"Yeah." He leans back a little, pauses. "What's your favorite part of the body?"

Zach looks at him for his own little pause. "Assuming you mean the—"

"The male body, yes. Although hearing your rants about hateful mammary glands is something I cherish."

Zach shudders. "Please, give me a moment to think of something more pleasant to wipe away that image."

Chris' lip tilts up. "The crease between the cock and the thigh."

"Yeah, that will work, but—" Zach stops, looks at him. "Really?"

Chris shrugs, drinks his coffee. "Yeah."

"But boys stink."

"So do girls."

"Ain't that the damn truth, and yet no one will ever admit it."

"It would cripple the beauty industry."

"Which would then harsh my mellow. In an extreme way."

"Exactly."

Zach lets him fall silent for about a minute. "That place where ass meets thigh. It's so fucking wholesome, I just want to build a house there."

Chris snorts. "Wholesome, yeah, that's exactly what word I would use to describe what you do once you actually get to the—"

"Karl! Heyhowareya—" Zach says efficiently, clearly trying not to smirk.

"Get to the what?" Karl's eyes are huge and curious even as he squints down at them. "Please tell me you're talking about nothing having to do with work."

"Oh, most definitely," Zach replies. "We were just—" Chris is shooting him a look but he's ignoring it. "—talking about which parts of the body we like best."

Karl glances between them a couple times. Then he crosses his arms in front of him. "Shoulderblades." He reaches over and taps Chris's, and Chris hunches a little more into his coffee. "I like to think that's where the wings would be, and they're strong, and always moving. I dunno."

Zach lifts his coffee in a toast. "A worthy contribution."

"Thanks." Karl contemplates a little, then shrugs and makes moves to leave. "Either that or the Adam's apple."

Chris freezes.

Karl walks away.

Zach sits quietly for a moment, then speaks without taking his eyes off his magazine. "Well, we knew he was a little non-traditional."

Chris doesn't respond.

"And I guess now we know why his outfits are always so damn coordinated."

Chris still doesn't respond. Zach sighs and leans in, forcing eye contact. "Please tell me I'm not going to have to start passing notes between the two of you that say 'do you like me check yes or—'"

"Shut up and let me think."

"Yeah, 'cause that'll end well."

"Okay, you know what, just for that, you're _going_ to pass the fucking note."

They hold gazes for a moment, Chris trying to look challenging through the pleading and Zach clearly trying not to be won over. But failing.

Finally, he closes the magazine carefully, sets it primly down on the table, and stands up with that stupid gangly grace of his. "Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine. Go back to your trailer. I'll text you."

Chris rolls this around in his cheek for a moment, then nods once. "Fine."

\---

_Message from Zacharias Quinto (7:52 pm):  
karl's in his trailer._

_Message to Zacharias Quinto (7:52 pm):  
Meaning…?_

_Message from Zacharias Quinto (7:54 pm):  
meaning please for the love of god go tap that. stat. or else._

\---

He hates the thin, hollow sound of knocks on trailer doors. It's a really awesome metaphor for Hollywood, though, and he's tempted to turn around and burrow into in the pages of his latest notebook—

But the door's opening. Karl's there. And belatedly he realizes it would be helpful to know what was _on_ the note that Zach had passed. Metaphorically speaking.

Karl doesn't seem perturbed or seductive as he gestures Chris inside, though, so Chris figures it must've been subtle. Which he appreciates and loathes at the same time—More work for him, God damn it. Where's a deus ex machina when you need one.

 _Ah, well,_ he thinks as the wan light hits Karl's calm, warm face, which is looking up at him from the couch. He'll be his own plot device.

"Adam's apple," he says after he licks his lips.

Karl tilts his head a little, then opens his mouth but Chris cuts him off. "I have an Adam's apple."

Karl's gaze sinks down to it, then flicks back up. "I realize."

Chris shakes his head. "But you hadn't _noticed_." He tries to imbue this with all the _fuck me_ he can, but he's sweating and feeling dumb and suddenly he wonders if there's a Plan B in Zach's head.

Karl looks at him, vague surprise lining his forehead. After a moment, he stands.

As he comes across the two-foot crevasse between them, Chris swallows.

Karl's eyes track the movement. He slowly raises a hand and traces the bump of bone with the tips of two fingers. "No, I hadn't."

Chris tightens his hand into a fist to keep from reaching. _Not yet_ , he thinks. Not until—

"It okay if I notice?" Karl's looking at his face now, his eyes fucking earnest as always and Chris— Chris only manages a small nod.

But that's not enough for Karl, clearly, because he's still looking at him, waiting. Chris's tongue darts out to wet his lips again. "Please."

Karl's gaze warms Chris's skin, then Karl leans down and graces Chris's Adam's apple with his lips, brushing them over the stretched skin. "I certainly will from now on."

The words are a Kiwi murmur against Chris's throat and Chris shudders once.

Game, set, match.

He gives in fully, reaching up to clutch at the back of Karl's neck as Karl's kiss turns to light suction, and Chris's fingers make their own purchase when they find none, grabbing on for whatever he's worth— not to keep Karl from continuing on but to keep him from fucking stopping, ever.

Karl does stop, though, and Chris almost protests but he realizes Karl's just pushing him down onto the couch in order to get a better angle for a thorough oral inspection.

Karl's mouth is worshipful and Chris's mouth is open, the breaths coming through shallow and slow. "Christ," he manages to grunt out, "you weren't kidding when you said you were a fan, were you?"

He can feel Karl shake his head, lips sweeping back and forth. "No."

Chris shifts until his legs are on either side of Karl, rolling their hips together restlessly. "Why? What's so fascinating about it?"

Karl pauses. "I'm not sure." Which is Karl for 'I'll tell you in a minute if you listen.' So Chris listens, his hands gracelessly moving along Karl's shoulders and back.

"It's such a contradictory little thing…" Karl finally says. Then he takes a lick. "It's solid, it's cartilage, it's there to protect a very important part of what makes us human…" A scrape of teeth and then Chris feels Karl's fingers join his lips. "But if the angle is right…" The fingers become a steady hand and a gentle push, and Chris sucks in a breath. "…it can be a dangerous weapon in and of itself."

The pressure increases, accompanied by soothing swipes of tongue, and Chris thrusts against Karl, half hard and working toward all-buzzed, buzzed off chemistry and pressure and— and _Karl_ …

When the pressure fades, Chris is full-hard and weightless and wants Karl to split him open and wear him like a blanket. It's not the weirdest thought he's ever had during sex, but it's up there, and a small laugh winds its way up his body, rocking his shoulders and bubbling in his throat.

Karl catches it on the way, tracing a hard line up Chris's throat with his teeth, and the laugh becomes a gasp which becomes mere air, warm and damp between them.

Then Karl's voice rumbles again. "And it's a sign of masculinity, right, but… so often it's an indicator of naked emotion, of something someone's trying to hide." And with that, he pulls back. His fingers are still there, at Chris's throat, loose and gently caressing, but he meets Chris's gaze.

The flecks of green sing to him and Chris lasts about four seconds before he tilts his head forward with a curse, finally, _finally_ getting those lips against his, opening them up to delve inside in a desperate attempt to find the secret cause of that smile, to find out what those dimples taste like from the inside, what import cigarettes and being so fucking happy all time will feel like on his tongue.

It feels fucking phenomenal, he's learning quickly, and he burrows his hands under Karl's shirt and tries not to clutch too hard at Karl's shoulders, bone and muscle and flesh, but then he finds his shoulderblades and has to stop, has to note: "Wings." His grin is a little wicked. "You had them."

Karl's mouth curves in a smile, and he regards Chris so gently that Chris is thrown for a not unpleasant loop when Karl heaves up and has Chris's cock out quicker than he can say 'kilt.'

His brain does a spin, his heart not far behind, and he decides to just go with it. "If that's what I get for being cheeky, then—"

He's interrupted by _movement_ of Karl's hand, interrupted by the _'Fuck!'_ that flies out of his own mouth.

Karl chuckles, his hand still moving. "It's not very gentlemanly to ask for that on a first date."

Chris swallows; the levity in his heart is replaced by a whole lot of 'please dear god yes,' and it's probably visible in his face, but Karl's eyes are on his throat again, even as his hand works Chris smoothly, not too roughly but a little roughly just the same. Chris has no idea what he's doing, hasn't been with a man in a long time and never even _dreamt_ it would go this far—so—naturally— _Fuck it_. "You could."

Karl stills. "Chris, I really wouldn't ask—I mean, it's not that I wouldn't want to, it's just—You don't—We don't—"

Chris grins, feeling the corners of his eyes crinkle with it, and shuts Karl up with a kiss. Then he sits up, shoving Karl mostly-gently backwards and out so Chris can stand. Stand and take of his shirt, his ubiquitous white shirt which he then tosses somewhere.

Karl makes a noise of protest but Chris leans down and draws him up, clothing first, tossing Karl's shirt the same direction. Then Chris pulls Karl up and close and wraps around and under him like a sea urchin, sniffing the crook of his neck like a junkie. He revels in it, kills it with his smile, only to be interrupted far too soon by Karl half pushing, half lifting him—them—into the bed, shedding the remaining clothes as they go.

Chris doesn't stop clinging, snuffling, maybe even licking but don't tell anybody, until Karl's eyes have that crazy, hot look in them and he finally holds Chris down with a hand on his sternum. "You're like a puppy."

Chris grins and reaches up to muss his hair. "Maybe."

Then he lunges forward and licks a stripe right up the side of Karl's face. There's stubble in there, and maybe a side of a nostril, but it makes Karl yelp and convulse with laughter.

…then back up on the bed and clearly insist Chris roll onto his stomach. Chris loses his train of everything when he feels Karl's hands on his hips pulling him up onto his knees even as Karl is draping eons of tan skin across him. "One good turn deserves another…"

And just as suddenly, Karl's only hands on hips and a tongue—"Oh fucking Jesus," Chris bites out as he feels warm wetness suspiciously near his asshole—oh, yup, then not near, _on_ , and this is ridiculous but Chris knows he's dreaming now, because Karl just seems way too—too— _wholesome_ for this.

Apparently Chris Pine needs to re-evaluate his ability to judge character because Karl Urban's tongue is firmly an inch up his ass, a finger not far behind, and it's causing Chris's cock to leap fitfully, to defy gravity earnestly.

Then it's just fingers and there's slick in there that can't possibly be just Karl's and the voice is back in his ear. "So…" He's almost hesitant, and Chris's heart leaps too and isn't that just pathetic.

Chris turns his head to kiss at Karl's cheek, nose, whatever. "Yes, you may." He pulls back a little, meets Karl's eyes, and grins. "If by that I mean 'fuck me right now. Please,'" he adds on like it's an afterthought.

Karl's dimples break out and the look in his eyes slays Chris—only to be re-slain by the slow push and burn of joining, of filling, and then Karl _is_ splitting him open and wrapping up in him like a blanket, cutting down the middle line and through the bullshit (he can't help but admire the prepubescent joke in there, too) in a way that makes all his sinews sing and roil about.

He can feel Karl flexing, too, the muscles beneath the skin against his ass, the hands holding his hips and traveling intervalicly up his back. And somewhere in the middle, in there amongst the pushing and the sweating and Chris getting reacquainted with his prostate, he feels Karl's hands linger on his shoulder blades, then briefly the feeling of lips as well. Reverent. Chris hurts he's so in love.

Then one hand slides around to Chris's cock and he forgets what that even means, is only thinking about friction and that it doesn't matter who's leading, as long as the rhythm is right and _sweet Jesus_ is this right. Chris buries his face in his forearms and breathes, breathes in the beginnings of his orgasm, which has a whiff of something like Karl coming, too, and Chris is so grateful he almost whimpers. Then it's running through him, the pleasure circuiting from Karl's cock and fingertips and mouth and slamming into Chris's body, cock-first but then all the way down to his toes and fingers and nose.

After, they collapse into one another, although not like a building, angles and jaggedness, but like a mountain, clouds of dust and inward motion, until the pieces fit together leg over thigh and hand over heart. Or over magnificent nipple, which pleases Chris just as much, making Karl jerk reflexively from post-coital overstimulation.

Karl swats at his hand ineffectively. "Brat."

Chris doesn't argue. In fact, he rolls with it. Literally, he rolls onto Karl and scootches down. Karl immediately launches a protest involving the words 'not 19,' but Chris shakes his head as he slides his nose into the crease beside Karl's satiated cock. He's not after that, anyways. Not yet.

Right now, he just wants this. This crease here, this sweat and hair and commingling liquids. Not to mention this shiver that runs through Karl.

Chris breathes deeply, sets up for a long-haul, and buries himself in Karl. He means to memorizes these lines, too.

__  
**fin**   



End file.
